Lullaby for the taken
by hertorpor
Summary: Sienna is taken. The men who greet her are callous, but none are more heartless than Vaas. A privileged college student from white suburbia learns that there are things worse than death. [ rated M for sexual themes, smut, blood/gore, and canon typical violence. viewers beware, for you're in for a scare! ]


Great. I'm trapped.

The cage rattled, made of bamboo and wire. It was primitive yet sturdy enough to encompass me. I thrashed against their hands. They were binding my wrists; my calves and ankles were already fully enveloped by thick ropes. I could've bitten them. But the price of marring the flesh of one of the armed men could be my life, or worse. There are worse things than death. A sheltered college student probably wouldn't know that, but I'd come to realize it soon.

I could hardly rest on my knees without severe discomfort, so my cheek met the cold, dirty terrain. My breath came out in hitched pants, my eyes were glassy and blurred, but a glimmer of defiance still remained in my expression. I could feel my limbs grow numb, but I still had my will to live.

Even with that, I was bound too tightly. And from the looks the guards were giving me, I knew they had no intention of aiding me. They weren't surveying me seductively, as if they were aroused in anyway by my struggling. They were surveying me like how a butcher would examine a nice, tasty slab of pork. I guess I'm the perfect cut.

This place would consume me.

My cage was larger than the rest of them, and I was the only one with a roommate. I didn't even have to guess who it was – I was captured with my boyfriend, Scott. Chivalrous as always, he'd attempted to fight them off so I could flee. But, alas, our captors were not idiots. Experienced slavers did not have a hard time capturing a couple of privileged brats who'd never actually got into a fight. Scott was knocked out, as was I, then we were bound inside the same cage.

Poor Scott. He was tied in a similar fashion, but he was still unconscious. He was positioned away from me, so the only thing I could see was his shabby black hair. He appeared to be unscathed, other than minor contusions on his forearms. I had faced the brunt of the slaver's force. A large chuck of my bicep was torn off painfully, now the clotting had stopped the bleeding but it left a dull sting in the back of my head. Dirt and blood was smeared uncouthly on my arms, face, and neck. They had rubbed some soil on the damn wound to stop the bleeding. Involuntary tears cut through the grime though, leaving clean streaks sideways. My brain had shut down most of the pain, but even with the natural pain killers pumping through my system it felt awful. I was kept on edge because of the damned feeling.

The darkness settled around us, but the pain kept me wide-awake. The tight binds would periodically cause me to thrash, gasp, or cry, but each one of these resistances would be met with some sort of snarl. Sometimes an empty threat of violence or of rape, but I knew I was a valuable asset in the eyes of whoever lead this camp. They wouldn't kill me or compromise any part of my body.

Staring up into the trees that danced in the slight breeze, I tried to put myself in a trance. I soon shut myself down so that the only thing present in my world was the gentle to and fro of the trees; I no longer heard the barking of the guards, smelled the bitter smell of cigars, or tasted the coppery blood that still lined the corners of my mouth. The spell of sleep soon dragged me down.

Sadly, this sleep was short-lived. An unfamiliar voice shouted and the cage rattled, which spurred me to be forcefully yanked back into reality. I pulled against the ropes, forgetting that I could not rub the dirt and sweat and day-old makeup that was smudged across my face. The rays of sun cut through the bars, illuminating my face. There were several sets of eyes that were watching me, each banded with pallid rings. Drug addicts, clearly.

Scott groaned and reared his head, seeming to also stir from unconsciousness at the buzz of voices. I want to call out, but when I open my mouth, my throat is so parched that all I can manage is a half-coughed out "Scott" that was close to inaudible. My vision is swimming as a man begins to pound against the bamboo, so hard that I fear that the entire cage will collapse, and I cannot decipher his barking. My head is throbbing and I can feel my heart beat. Diastole, systole. His teeth are bared, he thinks I'm ignoring him, maybe? I can't hear him, I want to tell him, but I can't vocalize through the thickness in my throat.

My head lolls to the side, trying to clear my throat with no avail, shutting my eyes tightly in an attempt to convey how I'm feeling. But he is kicking the cage; I can feel the vibrations of his steel-toed boots pounding against the side. He doesn't understand me. Any half-wit could see the glassiness of my eyes and my chapped lips and see I'm undergoing extreme dehydration. I slacken. Perhaps he'll think I'm dead.

Scott is still groaning, trying to understand his surroundings as he tugs against the cage in a desperate attempt to free himself. Stop, Scotty. This is our fate.

I surrender myself, relaxing my tense muscles the best I can to imitate a corpse, curling into a fetal position the best I can with bound wrists and legs. I try to shallow my breath. A man rounds the cage, eyeing me, and I wonder why he doesn't just put a bullet in my head. He's dragging it out. I assume I'm done for, but he is unscrewing a cap to something. His feet plant in the macadam, and he tips something over my head. Please god, let it be hydrochloric acid. But it's not. It's water.

I scrunch my face up, opening my eyes once the stream seems to be done. I am greeted by an amused expression of a Latino-looking man. He has a wicked smirk on his face which is coupled with furrowed brows.

"Sleepy?" He drones, extending a hand through the bars to touch my grime-coated cheek. I instinctively recoil, but I don't have much room to back away. His hand eventually ends up caressing my cheek, and his fingers are gently stroking my skin. His touch is surprisingly soft for a slaver. But this observation is cut short as he begins to tug my hair. It's like he's trying to uproot a weed. "You awake?" He asks mock-sweetly, as if he's waking his son up for school.

He lets go, his hand trailing to my lips, forcing my mouth open. He's checking my teeth, maybe? Like they used to do to horses, to determine their value. But, instead, he pours some water into my mouth. I swallow. He seems pleased. Words still slip from my lips, and I sound like my throat is lined with sandpaper, but it helps greatly.

"So who are you two? Some kind of fucking hotshots from America? Think you're better than everyone?" He inquires lightly, tilting his head, "We're all the same here, on my island. You better watch the fuck out, because here, I'm the boss. And you are my bitches."

He spins on his heels, circling the cage towards Scott. Scott is gagged. I didn't notice that. Why didn't I? The man smiles down at Scott, who growls in defiance. He holds up what appears to be our wallets, the uniform leather ones, and cracks their spines. Receipts, business cards, pictures, credit cards, all come spilling forth. Some fall to his feet, others into his palm, and he clicks his tongue as he observes them.

"Scott's your name, eh?" He chimes, tilting his head inquisitively at Scott. He appears to be comparing his ID picture to the real thing, beaming down at him. "Looks like you're making bank, hermano; you carry some cash."

He dumps the remaining cards onto the dirt, leaving all but his stack of twenties on the ground. His heel grinds them into the ground. It's a beacon of disrespect, trying to show this true dominance through destruction of our only possessions.

"Well, you have no identity here. To me, you're both property. And you will be treated like what you are." The smile on his face stretches wider, less teasing, almost giving a semblance of welcome.

He lets Scott's wallet plummet to the earth below him, before opening mine. This time, he smirks. This isn't the same smile that inches up his expression this is a malicious look. The man saunters forward, and kneels against the side of my cage.

Fingers flip an image into the scope of my vision, his arm poking through the cage's bars. "It's cute," He goes on, waving it before my eyes.

It's me with Scott, embracing on a snowy day. Blue hues are dancing on our faces and on our bodies. There are barren trees, wilting. Our mouths are smiling openly. We're laughing. A perfect moment in time. I wince again.

"What are you two, married? Some kind of relationship here, I know that," He drones. He pulls the photograph away, placing it by his feet as he leafs through the various paraphernalia in my wallet. Once he stumbles on a debit card, he nods stiffly, handing it and the photograph to a nearby guard. The said guard walks away, until he's out of my line of sight.

"Siena and Scott, sitting in a tree," He chimes, dumping the contents of my wallet on the ground just as he had done to Scotts. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G," He accents the letters as he kicks dirt over the cards, there go the business cards, receipts, and any trace of who I am. He is pleased with himself. His eyes meet mine, sensing the fear and anger in my expression. He laughs, the sound is harsh and not joyous.

He pivots, saying something lowly to a guard. Obviously his entertainment with me only goes so far. He tosses his head over his shoulder before completely departing from my sight, as if to affirm that he'll be back. There is a suggestion of elation on his lips, but I only catch a glimpse before he saunters off.

Nobody seems to be looking, so I begin I rub my wrists together, rope burn causing a ripping pain up my arms, but perhaps the friction could aggravate the knots enough for me to slip free. After several minutes, a knot bursts from the force. Poorly tied, I suppose. My hands begin to grasp aimlessly at the knots, excitedly tugging away the constricting ropes until my hands are almost completely free. I was a girl scout, you know.

But, one of the guards sees. He reacts almost instantly, unlocking the main door into the poorly constructed cage. He says something in Spanish, and one of the other guards rises from his position, followed after several others. They come to his side, all of them are ready to attack me. I breathe heavily, trying to convey my discomfort. They wouldn't hurt me! I am an asset. They wouldn't hurt me more than simple kicks and punches. I could get past that. I am strong. I can get through their threats.

That man who'd kicked the cage and destroyed my wallet and poured water on me had obviously been informed of my fight, and was parting the sea of guards. I freeze, and he's pushing the gate aside as he crouched next to my stilling form.

He looked casually from side to side, avoiding direct eye contact with me. He clearly is neurotic. The only thing my vision is allowing me to perceive is the steady rise and fall of his chest, his facial expression isn't in my view. He hesitates, bringing his hand to my chin before yanking it up. I swear I heard something crack.

"It seems like you need to be put in your place, hermana," He spat, unwavering eye contact this time. I wince. I don't want to look at him. His eyes are like swans in an oil spill; black and soulless. He doesn't seem to tolerate dissidents. I'm pleading with him with my stance, beginning to tremble. What else can I do? I whimper like a baby.

He cocks his head towards the guards, arching a brow as he tosses his head towards my sleeping cagemate. Several armed men pour into the cage, pulling Scotts sleeping frame from where it rests.

"Listen to me, you stupid bitch. I know who you are. I know what you are doing, and it's not going to work on me. None of your little tricks are going to even scratch the surface," He sneers, taking my face in both of his hands. His breath smells like tobacco. I can't see anything but him, and I'm trying to look beyond him but he is stronger than me. I almost let out a cry, but before I can, he shields my cry with his hand. With his hand over my mouth, he pulls me closer to his chest. I can feel him smiling as I struggle and begin shouting obscenities into his hand at the sight of Scott. He's dragging me out of the cage. My hands are partially untied, but I can't move much.

He was wide-awake now, his lips silently moving as he begged to the men to let him go. His hands were cut free from the binds, but this was not doing him much good. Clearly in a state of shock, he grasps at the pant legs of the guards, his expression a blank slate. Blood was mingling with sweat and other bodily fluids on his face. He looked weak. Weaker than I'd ever seen him.

A gun is aimed precisely at his left temple. He seems unaware, trying to get the attention of any guard that had any conception of mercy. But this was not a place of mercy.

The man who holds his hand around my mouth whispers "If you have a last thing to say to your dearly fucking beloved, say it now," but I knew this was not a gesture of empathy or mercy. He extracted pleasure from our weakened states, and as he removed his hand, I knew he was laughing inwardly.

"NO!"

That is all I can make out before his finger pressed against the trigger. Years of working with Scott, knowing him, loving him, all of it melted and pooled at his feet as blood and brain matter leaked from the gaping hole in his head.

The ruthless man held my head in place with a vice-like grip, sewing seeds of a now entropic state that was beginning to be incubated in my mind.

This was insanity.

I silently screamed, jaws half shut, mouth hanging open as the voiceless intruder observed his body. A broken machine. My useless cries escaped me as if there was hope of someone saving me from this trapped condition. But I was a cornered animal.

When all of the voices dimmed and all was settled, the man cruelly tied both of my wrists to the cage, forcing me to my knees, forcing me to stare upon Scott's body as it entered various states of decay. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to scream. Knowing this place, such actions would earn punishment. And there already was too much maltreatment across my body.


End file.
